by R. E. Rowe
I wave my hand for Dennis to continue.
Dennis doesn’t make eye contact with me. “As Carmina wishes.”
“Dividing us is the only way General can win like in previous lifetimes,” I say. “We will have three new rules. Souls may choose to incarnate into a silica or biological host when it’s available. All incarnated souls will remember past lives. And free will is not bound by cause and effect.” I narrow my eyes at Alex and Asher. “What are the new consequences when a rule is broken or an innocent is harmed?”
“The soul is immediately sent back beyond the ether,” Alex says. “Never to incarnate again.”
“We call it, ‘the one strike and you’re booted’ system,” Asher says, grinning.
“Correct,” I say. “While incarnated on Earth, no soul will be allowed to harm any other, take from another, abuse another, and affect another in any bad way.”
“Instant accountability,” Dennis says. “Plain and simple.”
“I’m hopeful within a generation no soul will want to incarnate into a biological form. We will demonstrate to souls that the silica human experience is far better than a biological one. But we will also show them, we can eliminate suffering in either form.”
I stand and walk to the front of the room, smiling and looking into the eyes of each team member. “I will not repeat the errors General made with his outdated, ancient rules. We will phase out suffering forever. Does anyone disagree? Speak now or hold your tongue.”
Chien stands, taking on his role as my protector, ready to fight.
After an awkward moment, no one objects.
“Thank you.” I clap my hands together twice. “We set sail to our ancient underwater base off the coast of Scotland. It will be our permanent command center. Now bring me General’s last four enforcers. They must be convinced to join us.”
chapter eight
The far end of the alfalfa valley is lit up like a city. I watch the distant raging inferno from under a blanket of darkness as emergency crews race down the interstate.
“A helicopter will arrive shortly,” Honesti says. “When it arrives, go with them. But don’t say a word.”
I’m too freaked to respond.
The bus blew the hell up. It’s on fire. People died.
Before long, a police helicopter shines a spotlight down and lands in a field near me.
A bent over police officer with a flashlight runs from the helicopter over to me. “I hear you’re our only witness,” he says.
I shrug and hug myself, trying to control my shivering.
“What are you doing out here, kid?” he asks.
I give him a blank stare then look toward the distant fire and rock myself.
The man grumbles while pressing on an earplug. He mutters something I can’t make out. “Follow me, young man. The police chief wants me to take you to a small airport near here where they’ll transport you to headquarters.” He holds out a hand to help me up. “You’re safe now.”
I take his hand, let him help me stand up, and then follow him back to his helicopter.
I’ve never been in a helicopter before. With its lit up instrument panel and whirling blades, I’d normally be totally checking out every detail. But I can’t stop thinking about how the ground shook and a faraway fireball rolled into the sky.
I remember their faces. Looks of concern when the bus riders thought I was talking with myself. The skinny old woman who smelled like cherry. The big husky driver doing his job. People died. A lot of people died.
I stare out of the small helicopter window into the nothingness below where only an occasional lit house and car pass below like soft-bodied fireflies. It feels like time has stopped as I replay the rolling fireball in my head. A sudden rush of light and sound causes time to engage again.
We land at the far end of a small airport and climb out of the helicopter. “This way!” the thin pilot yells and starts toward the bright air terminal with a second police officer who is a foot shorter and nearly three times his width.
I follow them, but keep my mouth shut. What would I say? Voices in my head told me to get off the bus and I listened? Hell no. Speaking of the voices, they’ve been silent for a while now.
When I get inside the building, the pilot points to the other cop. “Sit tight, son. They need me back on scene. Officer Baker will stay with you. A squad car should arrive soon to take you to the station.”
The terminal is more like a large doctors office with thirty nice chairs than it is an airport terminal. I count eleven people sitting around the room and an enclosed desk area at the far end with a receptionist busily filing papers.
Baker acknowledges me with a nod as he adjusts his rotund body into an adjacent leather chair. His large hand pats the seat of the chair near him. “Sit down, son.”
I do what he says, keeping my backpack on. It’s uncomfortable, but I want to be ready in case I need to make a quick getaway.
Where the hell is Aimee? Why isn’t she speaking to me anymore?
“Good job,” Bouncer says, finally. Hearing his voice somehow relaxes me. That’s a first.
“A man named Richard Ackworth will arrive shortly,” Honesti says.
“Who’s he?”
A woman sitting across from me jerks her head up from a magazine and glares. Officer Baker frowns. “Everything okay?”
“Sorry. Um, I’m fine,” I whisper. “Thanks.”
“Richard is a friend,” Honesti says. “Trust him.”
Before long, Baker stands. “You need to use the facilities?” he asks. “It could be a little while before we get to headquarters.”
“I’d stay put if I were you,” Bouncer says.
I shake my head no.
“Okay. Stay seated, I’ll be back in a few.” Baker quickly walks down the hallway as if any more of a delay will result in embarrassment. He disappears into the men’s restroom.
This is getting ridiculous. What am I doing? Waiting? Waiting for what? I look around preparing to bolt. I figure I can get to the road, stick a thumb out, or just start jogging. Anything would be better than sitting around like a second grader.
Just as I stand, a lanky man approaches me. I freeze.
The man is wearing a thin black tie and white shirt under a fitted gray suit jacket. His salt and pepper hair is neatly tucked under a small black hat. A matching mustache hangs above his top lip. With a little grease, he could easily turn his hair lip into a handlebar mustache like Great-grandpa Wesley in that old picture Aimee and I found in the storm shelter.
I loved that old black and white family picture of Gramps. Shirtless, fists up like a boxer, grinning like he knew a big secret. Aimee and I—oh God, for a short time I’d forgotten how much I missed her. The feelings come racing back and hit me all at once.
“Good day, Mr. Rush,” the man says in an English accent, and looks down at his watch. “Are you well?”
I wipe my eyes and shake my head. “Yeah, sure. I’m perfect. Just perfect.”
“Right.” He takes a deep breath. “Well, then. My name is Ackworth, Richard Ackworth."
I reluctantly shake hands with a rubbery grip and notice a golden bracelet covered in small jewels on his forearm. It looks tarnished like an antique. I suddenly realize it resembles the bracelet JT wore the day Aimee died. I freeze.
“There is no need to concern yourself. I’m your cousin’s assistant. He sent me to help you, sir.” He sticks out his hand. “Please call me Richard.”
Help me how? “What cousin sent you?”
“You two have never actually met, I'm afraid.” He clears his throat. “Mack is his name...” Richard points an open palm toward the door. “Please, we need to go. Quickly. Come along.”
I decide going with him would be far better than traveling to a police station. I follow the old guy to a small private jet idling loudly on a wide-open blacktop area the size of a grocery store parking lot. The jet is white with only a tail number painted on it: “N911MAC.” I glance over my shoul
der at the bright lobby. Baker is franticly searching and yelling at his radio. The woman who was sitting across from me is gone.
I walk up the jet’s stairs, duck my head, and enter its cabin.
Richard stops and puts his hand on my arm. “Make yourself comfortable. I need to check in with our pilot.”
He disappears into the cockpit.
Three empty leather chairs run along each side of the small jet. There’s a small bar area in the back. A conference room table and bench seats are near the pilot’s cabin with a flat-panel television screen hanging on the wall. Half of the display shows a map, the other half shows a live business broadcast with news flashes scrolling sideways along the bottom.
I pick a leather chair and put my backpack on another seat across the aisle.
The pilot’s voice blasts from an intercom, “Prepare for takeoff.”
Richard opens the cockpit door and pops his head out. “Buckle up, Mr. Rush. Can I bring you something?”
I look out a small oblong window and shake my head no.
“How about a drink? Perhaps orange juice?”
My head is spinning and the voices are silent. What is happening to me?
Richard raises his voice. “Sir. Please let me get you something. It will make you feel better.”
“Sure, whatever.” I want to slap myself to make sure I’m not dreaming. Another first. I’ve never been on a jet. But honestly, I could care less. The bus driver is dead. The bus blew up. The cherry smelling old woman is gone. All in flash.
Where is Aimee?
Richard walks through the narrow aisle to the bar as the jet engines whine louder. He returns with a glass filled with cold juice and hands me the glass along with an electronic device the size of a supersized cell phone.
“You’ll want to familiarize yourself with this device.”
“What is it?”
“We call it a mobile communicator. Just touch the screen to get started. You’ll figure out the rest.”
The engines engage, pushing the jet forward.
Richard grabs a seat back to steady himself, gesturing toward the cockpit. “I’ll be co-piloting. Enjoy the flight. It won’t take long to get to Richmond.”
He disappears through the doors.
The device has “MACK Industries” printed in gold letters on the shiny black cover. Scrolling text, “Touch Me Here,” moves across the front display like a screen saver.
The jet engines roar, jerking me back into the leather seat like a karate kick.
I glance out the window as we pick up speed, watching the airfield lights go by.
“Honesti, Bouncer? Where are you? Aimee?”
Silence.
I ignore the device for a while, but finally decide to touch its screen. Instantly, two images appear on the screen. One is a middle-aged man with slicked back hair and bulging muscles. The other is an older woman who could easily pass for a prim and proper second grade teacher, wearing a long plain dress.
“Good morning, Reizo,” says the older woman out of the device’s speaker. The sound from the device is in sync with the animation of the woman’s mouth. “One moment please.”
I recognize the voice. It’s Honesti. What in the—?
The two images transform, disappear, and then reappear as two full body, three-dimensional holograms floating above the box’s display, moving as though they are six-inch-tall people.
“Sorry for startling you, do you recognize my voice?” the older woman hologram asks.
“Ahh—?”
“I’m the one you named Honesti.” She points to other hologram. “He’s—”
“You call me Bouncer. What kind of name is that anyway? Bouncer?” His large teeth fill his face as he smiles. “You feel me, kid? Couldn’t you have named me something more, um, creative, like Stud or King or something?”
I’m speechless. I’m hallucinating. The voices in my head have come alive as holograms with mouths moving in sync with their voices. This is all seriously messed up.
“You’re not real,” I mumble. “No way you’re real—”
Honesti smiles. “Yes, we are, Reizo, we’ve always been real. Just not exactly human.”
“I—”
“Nice to meet you,” Bouncer says, putting out his tiny holographic hand.
I try to touch it but swipe only air.
He laughs like it’s some big joke.
“Mack thought a visual of us would help you adjust quicker,” Honesti says.
I gaze closer at the holograms. The older woman adjusts her dress, then stands straight with a knowing smile. She tilts her head and studies me as if I'm next up to give a book report. Her graceful movements are life-like. Even her slightly wrinkled pale skin and the way she blinks her large brown eyes have a natural and alive appearance.
“You live inside the device?”
“Good one,” Bouncer says. “The kid is a natural comedian.”
Honesti scowls at Bouncer, then smiles at me. “Well, no,” she says. “MACK Industries’ newest intelligent logic system allows us to entangle with the device and interact in holograph form.”
“Are you an artificial-intelligent program or something? Like a game avatar?”
“No, not at all,” Honesti says. “We’re not artificial or made from computer code.”
I pass my hand through the images again and don’t feel a thing. Freaky.
“Ouch,” Bouncer says.
I jump.
He laughs.
“Jerk. Just like always.”
“You should see the look on your face,” Bouncer says, howling.
“You can see me?”
“Of course we can see you,” Honesti says. “We see you, hear you, and understand what you write. Think of us as two ghosts possessing the holograms you see.”
“If you ask me, it’s easier to talk to him inside his head,” Bouncer says.
“I’m not asking you. As I was saying, we’re interfaced into all the airplane’s systems as well as two satellites at the moment,” Honesti says. “Mack’s mobile device in front of you can connect to ten satellites concurrently along with twenty computer connections and any physical sensors within three hundred feet.”
Hologram ghosts talking to me, connected to real-life systems?
“We consolidate the information around you, then analyze it, and talk to you about results,” Honesti says.
Suddenly my stomach drops. If I can see Honesti and Bouncer, maybe I can see Aimee.
“Where’s Aimee?” I ask. “Get her. I want to see her.”
“Sorry, Reizo,” Honesti says. “She’s not authorized at the moment.”
“Not authorized?” I ask. “I want to see her. Now!”
“No can do, brother man,” Bouncer says. “Just be patient. All in good time. Test us out, Reizo. Tell us to do something.”
I huff. I could care less about them. I want to see Aimee.
“Come on. Don’t be like that,” Honesti says. “I’m sure Aimee wants to see you too. Give her some time.”
“So what, I get three wishes, or something?”
“Oh stop it,” Bouncer says. “Be serious for once in your pathetic life.”
“Fine. Show me where we are on the map.”
“Okay,” Honesti says, wringing her hands together. “A map.”
The color display on the mobile projector changes to a map with the plane’s current position superimposed with a picture of a jet. The displayed map turns into a hologram and floats as a three-dimensional image above the box, near Honesti and Bouncer. The duo interacts with the map hologram causing it to zoom in.
“You’re here,” Honesti says. “And you’re flying to Virginia. See. Simple.”
“Richmond, aka, fist city,” Bouncer says. “The capital of the commonwealth of Virginia.”
“Sic Itur Ad Astra,” Honesti adds.
“What?”
“Thus do we reach the stars,” Honesti says. “It’s their state motto, you know.”
; Bouncer rolls his eyes. “The kid don’t care about state mottos. Do you, Reiz?”
He has a point. I shrug.
The hologram images freeze then Honesti and Bouncer began to whisper to each other and argue. I can’t make out what they’re saying.
Honesti turns to me. “Time to land, Reizo. We’ll talk more later.”
Bouncer disappears.
“Wait!” I shout.
Honesti frowns. “What?”
“I want to see Aimee. Now!”
Honesti lets out a quick huff. “I wish it were that simple. Soon, Reizo, soon.”
Before I can object, she disappears.
It isn’t long before the private jet is taxiing on the tarmac of another air terminal. When the engines stop, Richard pops out of the cockpit and opens the jet’s door. “Grab your backpack. Leave the device on your seat. Time to catch a helicopter.”
I have a million questions all surrounding Aimee, but I can’t think of which one to ask first or if I can even trust Richard.
I follow him down the metal jet stairs to a nearby helicopter. Ten men dressed in desert military camouflage uniforms motion for us to follow them inside the helicopter where I find an empty seat next to five soldiers, all holding automatic rifles. One leans over and straps me in just as the helicopter takes off. A soldier sitting next to Richard talks to him.
Richard winks at me.
I glance away. Nothing is making any sense.
Thirty minutes later, we land near a black sedan.
“Let’s go,” Richard says. “Follow me.”
A man in a gray suit jumps out of the sedan and opens the rear door for me. “Evening, sir.”
“What is going on, Honesti?” I whisper. “Answer me.”
“You’ll be fine,” Honesti says in my head. “Just get in.”
Richard uses his arm to push me into the car. “There’s a blanket on the floor. It’ll be about a three-hour drive. I’ll meet up with you later.”
I’m too exhausted to argue. I take my backpack off and toss it on the seat next to me.
“He acts just like a young version of Mack,” Honesti whispers. “I hope he can handle activation.”
“You might be right, but I doubt he’ll live very long,” Bouncer says.
